Firewhiskey
by lleuadarian
Summary: Firewhiskey in the Head Dorms. Scandalous. They're glad it was there, though. Scorose. Next Generation.


My first year in Hogwarts was successful.

Top of the class in all subjects. Teachers' pet. Hogwarts' golden girl.

I basked in the glory; adored the attention.

I loved it until I started to notice the endless comparisons.

"Her mother got 112% in her Charms exam. _Shocking_ how she only got 105%."

"I remember Dad saying her father was funny in school. _She's_ stuck up and boring."

"Harry Potter's niece _doesn't_ have a lightning scar?"

I _hated_ it. So in second year, I tried even harder to meet the expectations.

Top of the class in all subjects. Teachers' pet. Hogwarts' golden girl.

"She's brighter than her _mother_."

"She's _much_ plainer than Ginny Weasley."

"She should do something with her _hair_."

Third year, fourth year, fifth year… same old, same old.

"Shouldn't she be befriending _hippogriffs_?"

"Her hair's _atrocious_. Must be Granger genes."

"You'd think she'd have had an _O_ on her last essay, not an _E_. Must be Weasley genes."

"Apparently she's shirking her prefect duties, have you heard?"

"I heard she had Os in all her OWLs but that she wanted to take _Divination_ instead of Transfiguration… odd, that."

It was so hard to please everyone. Sixth year was worse than fifth – it was a whirlwind of papers, books, parchment, ink and extended prefect duties.

He and I became friends then. We shared a distaste for the massive Gryffindor blowout parties held after every Quidditch match, so we'd read or finish homework in a corner until the Firewhiskey had been drunk and the members of each team was passed out on the couches. We'd sip Butterbeer and quietly watch the drunkenness unfold around us. We'd watch James and Fred tumble about in stupor, and we'd catch the occasional lightweight fourth-year before they collapsed on top of us, mistaking us for part of the décor.

It was a necessary bond, and one that was… unfortunately… noticed and commented upon.

"Did _you_ see Malfoy and Weasley at the party last night?"

"Which Weasley? There are so many, I've lost count."

"The _bookworm_ , you know… Rose."

"You're kidding me… they _weren't_ …?!"

"Of course not. But they're _close_. Honestly, she's the only person he talks to outside Ravenclaw, and he doesn't associate with many of those."

And so our companionship was scrutinised from afar, but it still continued. We were amicable – something that our parents would, no doubt, be unhappy about, so we didn't mention it. Nobody did – not even the gossipers. For once in my life, I had someone to confide in that I knew was prejudiced and judged and gossiped about as much as I was – possibly worse, and so did he. Nobody seemed to want to ruin that for us… which was a welcome change.

It wasn't romantic in the least. Not until we were named Head Boy and Head Girl. We were no longer invited to the blowout parties, no longer invited to be couch potatoes whilst our fellow students got steadily drunker as the Firewhiskey was consumed – yet we still found time to be together. We still helped with each other's essays, kept our comradeship going.

We did have some Firewhiskey in the dorms, actually, and it was a pivotal moment in our relationship. I have no idea how it came to be there… Scorp has a theory that McGonagall probably stocks it up for the Heads each year, but I think it's been there since James Potter I's time (he seemed the type). We were overworked and stressed one night, close to our final NEWT exam, and Scorp brought out the massive casket for us.

We drank it all. Neither of us was a lightweight, but the amount of Firewhiskey in that casket could've floored Hagrid. One thing led to another, and by the next day, we were an item.

It sparked controversy. Lily Potter made a fortune in lost bets; apparently she'd been gambling on our relationship for years. Albus was sceptical, but soon became fond of Scorp and accepted him. In time, so did most of the school.

There was, however, the small matter of our families.

King's Cross station saw the arrival of the Malfoys and the Weasleys (the whole bloody lot of them), both families having been instructed to be civil to one another by all members of the families attending Hogwarts by letters. Scorp and I exited the Head carriage hand in hand and at that very moment, the station became silent. The train's axels stopped their incessant squeaking and everyone's suitcases screeched to a halt.

An agonising moment passed before everybody erupted in cheers, redheads and blonds alike. Both our families looked at one another in shock (horror was evident on my Dad's and Grandpa Weasley's faces) but we were enveloped in tears, arms and kisses.

We were together, we were accepted, and it was magical.


End file.
